Chapter 21. A Way

There had been no sunset this night, and there would be no stars or moon to watch over him, as in the lullaby Farry’s Mum had sung to him as a little child, and now sang to the twins and little Jonquil every evening as she tucked them into their beds. His dry eyes prickled at the thought. He wondered what his da was doing at this moment? Relaxing with a glass of ale with Regi or another cousin? Perhaps Uncle Merry had surprised him with a visit and even now was sitting down to late supper. 

Or perhaps Farry’s mum and da were sitting in front of a comfortable fire in the sitting room, sharing a last cup of tea before seeking their pillows. Farry had often enough peeped from the doorway of his room, seeking a glass of water or reassurance for a nightmare, to see them so, Diamond’s head resting upon her husband’s shoulder in a room lit only by firelight and a turned-down lamp, or Pippin stretched out with his head in Diamond’s lap whilst her fingers soothed his hair. 

If only he were there now... he would have taken every mild scolding they had to offer for getting up out of bed again – along with the requested glass of water. 

Thinking about that was a torment, so he shook his head to clear it and threw a few more sticks on the fire. He had spent much of the day resting, following the lessons in survival that Haldi had taught him over the past year, conserving his energy. Because he had the fire to warm him, he didn’t need to move about to keep warm in the winter cold, so, half-reclining between the warming fire and the edge of the pit, he passed the time swapping stories with Ferdibrand. They took turns asking each other questions about some past event or action that had been puzzling, and usually the answer required some length in the telling. But hobbit teens are lively creatures who often find it difficult to sit still for any length of time, and Faramir, though tall for his age, was no exception.  

Thus, when he could no longer bear his enforced inactivity, he’d excuse himself to his uncle and go into the surrounding forest to haul more deadwood to add to his pile. He’d also searched all around the edges of the clearing for more mushrooms, roots, and edible greens that might have sprouted in the mild winter weather, never going out of sight of the fire so that he wouldn’t lose himself in the wood. Of course he shared the fruits of his labours equally with Ferdi, even though his uncle repeatedly told him to keep a “Lotho’s share” for himself, to which he always answered, ‘I have all I want, Uncle.’ It was mostly true. At least, Faramir kept telling himself that. The mushrooms he sought out and the roots he dug, eaten raw, as clean as he could manage – as having no water for washing, he was only able to brush the dirt off – and a handful or two of tender greens were helpful in their current situation, but their wild provisions certainly didn’t hold a candle to what the cooks at the Great Smials could stir up. 

He’d also scavenged the vicinity for all the scattered pieces of their ruined packs and their contents, hoping for something useful, though in the end, it appeared the dogs had spoiled everything the hobbits had brought with them. He had even busied his fingers with neatly folding the sad, torn scraps he’d found and placing them in a few ordered piles nearby as he and his uncle traded stories to pass the time and keep up their spirits.

Leaning over towards the mouth of the pit, he cleared his throat and reminded Ferdi of where they’d left off in the current story. ‘And so you drank half a glass of a sleeping potion – did I hear that right? half a glass! when you were, as you quoted Hilly as so elegantly putting it, “about to ride in a jostling pack of ponies at break-neck speed” – and wrapped up your leg in a bandage, and made a form in the bed with pillows (rather like Frodo when the Black Riders came to Bree, I fancy).’ 

‘I find healers nearly so terrifying as Black Riders, to tell the truth,’ came from the pit, drawing a smile from the lad. 

‘Then you swapped clothes with Hilly,’ Farry said. 

‘Not exactly,’ Ferdi answered. ‘He wasn’t about to put on a nightshirt and hop in the bed, after all. He simply changed out of his racing clothes, shook out the dust, brought them to the infirmary in a bag and helped me into them.’ 

‘Then Hilly half-carried you out of the infirmary – and no body noticed because everyone was at the Pony Races, and he helped you onto Penny’s back, and you tied a scarf over your face – how handy, that the racecourse was dusty that day so they couldn’t tell it was you riding and not Hilly! – and told him to bind your bad leg to the stirrup leathers so you wouldn’t lose the stirrup... conveniently arranging for Penny to drag you to your death, should you fall whilst riding in the race...’ 

Farry found himself shaking his head in complete and utter incredulity as he spoke. ‘So tell me now, Uncle...’ 

‘Yes?’ Ferdi said. 

‘Now that you’ve explained to me how you ended up in that race when Hilly was the one, supposed to be riding...’ 

‘Yes,’ Ferdi repeated when Farry paused to figure out how to phrase his question without saying such words as “idiotic” or something similar. 

He swallowed as best he could and blurted, ‘What in the wild Green Hills were you thinking?’ When his uncle didn’t answer, he pressed further. ‘Why? Why would you do such a thing? It boggles the imagination!’ 

Ferdi remained dumb, and Farry felt the stirrings of alarm. ‘Uncle Ferdi?’ 

‘I am here, lad,’ came the answer, sounding somehow bleaker and more hollow than before. 

The teen breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then,’ he said, and paused. ‘Why won’t you tell me?’ 

There was a long pause as if Ferdi was sifting through his words before speaking them. At last, he said, ‘I don’t want to speak ill of your da, Farry.’ 

Farry took a few shallow breaths, stunned by the turn the conversation had taken. ‘Speak ill...?’ he said at last. Then, shaking his head vigorously (though of course Ferdi could not see it), he said, stronger. ‘No! That won’t suffice. Now I have to know. D’you understand, Ferdi?’ 

After another lengthy pause, his uncle answered quietly, ‘I do, lad.’ 

‘Then tell me,’ Farry said. He took another shaking breath and added, ‘The Tooks didn’t call that Convocation five years ago for no reason – they wouldn’t! All the ill feeling in the world over him going on an adventure and befriending Outlanders and choosing to live in Buckland instead of the Tookland... none of that would have been cause for a convocation.’ 

In the face of Ferdi’s continuing silence (for perhaps he’d been confused by the sudden and apparent change of topic), Farry added, ‘He used you and Tolly very ill indeed, that time... nearly got you both banished. Nearly was banished himself as a consequence. So I believe that if you have ill to speak of him, now’s the time to do it – and luckily enough for my da’s sake, I am the only listener in the present moment.’ 

He took a deep breath and added, ‘But... he’s my da, Ferdi. And that is why I must know. I have a right to know, especially if he is training me to follow him as Thain. For the sake of the Tooks and the Tooklanders, I have to know.’ He found himself blinking eyes that stung, as if with tears, though no tears came.  

Slowly, haltingly, he added, ‘I know who I think my da is, but what if he isn’t?’ 

Ferdi’s fervent response came quickly this time. ‘Never, Farry! Bite your tongue!’ 

‘But for the Tooks to call a convocation,’ Farry said. He swallowed hard, gathered his courage, and spoke plainly. ‘Fortinbrand and I spoke at length, when he was conducting his investigation, and little lad that I was, he guided me gently through questions that, now I’m a little older, I understand were aimed at finding out my da’s character... at least so far as a small child might be able to shed light on such a thing.’ 

‘I wondered about that,’ Ferdi said, so quietly that Farry had to strain to hear the words.  

The teen took a shaky breath and went on. ‘I know that Men can seem fair and be false, as if they are wearing a smiling mask that hides the ugliness beneath.’  

Ferdi surprised him then, by answering, ‘And many Men, the ones with whom your da claims friendship, seem fair and are truly so.’ 

‘What happened to all Men are ruffians?’ Farry demanded. 

Of a wonder, his uncle chuckled. ‘I swear,’ Ferdi said, ‘I have never said those words.’ 

Farry shook his head. Of course Ferdi was telling the truth: he always said something more along the lines of “Ruffians, all of them” when some action or other on the part of a Man had distressed him. 

‘So is the King a ruffian, or not?’ Farry pressed, for it was an old joke between them. 

Ferdi did not disappoint. ‘I haven’t made my mind up about him yet.’

‘And Prince Faramir?’ Farry wanted to know.

‘That Man is practically a Took,’ Ferdi answered. ‘Why, if he weren’t so tall, I’d suspect someone robbed a Tookish cradle some years back and then carried the babe off to the Southlands... especially considering the eminently sensible wife he married.’

Farry suddenly realised that his uncle had successfully diverted him from the topic at hand. As the worry that had suddenly arisen with Ferdi’s mention of “speaking ill” crashed over him once more like an overwhelming wave, he took a shuddering breath. ‘But that’s neither here nor there, Ferdi. I think... are you trying to evade the question? I love my da, I do! But...’ and he spoke his fear, ‘has he spent so much time amongst Men that he can wear a false face, as some of them do?’ He fought down another sob that threatened. ‘And that face that I know...’ It had not occurred to him before, and to think such a thing now was shattering. ‘Is there something dark underneath, that I never saw? Never knew was there?’ 

Sickness rose in his throat as nightmare memory surfaced. ‘The fat Man, who was so jolly and spoke so kindly when it suited him to do so... he could put on a good face... but he would have cut me to pieces, slowly and with great pleasure, from the way those Men talked, or his awful brother would have, had the Muster not come in time to save me from them.’ 

‘Farry, I –‘ 

‘You are a loyal Took, Ferdi, and yet... you tell me there is yet ill to be spoken of my father.’ There. He’d said it. 

‘Yes,’ Ferdi said at last, and Faramir’s heart sank within him. ‘And no.’ 

Farry’s mouth twisted. ‘Are you secretly an Elf, then, Uncle, and I never realised until this moment? For you are telling me yea and nay in the same breath.’ 

‘As it is with all of us, lad,’ Ferdi said. ‘As it is with all of us.’ 

‘You’re saying we’re all part Elf, then...’ 

‘I’m saying there is good and ill in every Hobbit, lad, e’en as there is in Dwarves, from what I’ve gleaned from old Bilbo’s tales, and Elves, from what your Uncle Merry has told me of the old histories, and Men as well. For Boromir was a noble Man, was he not? He travelled as one of the Nine, guarded his companions faithfully, looked after their safety, fought for them, even died trying to protect Merry and your da. And yet he tried to take the Ring from Frodo.’ 

Farry remained silent, pondering this. Ferdi spoke again. ‘And you know that hobbits can be petty and insular and downright unpleasant, even without leaving the Shire and rubbing elbows (so to speak) with Outlanders? Think of Lobelia, before they marched her off to the Lockholes, and Lotho – may their dreams be all of peace, no matter what terrible choices they may have made in their lifetimes – and Ted Sandyman, who threw his lot in with the ruffians, as well as the other hobbits who turned against their own kind in the Troubles...’ 

‘So what is the ill you would speak of my father?’ Farry demanded. 

‘I would not,’ Ferdi countered. 

‘What is the ill you can speak, then?’ Farry insisted. 

He listened to another long silence, but finally, Ferdi began to speak. ‘Your da’s worst failing is that he’s always been impetuous, lad. Acting without thinking.’ The older hobbit paused and then continued, ‘Not active malice, not at all! ...or the Convocation would have been right to banish him.’ 

Farry nodded to himself. He could understand the distinction, and yet...? ‘Impetuous,’ he prompted. 

‘Aye, from his earliest years,’ Ferdi said. ‘He was such a bright little lad, so curious about everything. Always asking questions, and if he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he’d ask the question again, or else he’d take it into his head to go off and investigate on his own, and that was when he’d really get himself into trouble – and us, his older cousins who had been set to watch over him, into the bargain.’ Of a wonder he chuckled. ‘D’you remember that story he told before the hearth in the Great Room, of tipping a stone into that well, deep in the Dwarf-mines under the snowy mountain, for no good reason whatsoever?’ 

‘So what does my father being impetuous have to do with you, badly injured as you were and even, if I’m remembering right, in danger of losing your leg – what were you doing racing in Hilly’s place?’ Farry said, coming back to the original point. 

For that was the point that, at this moment, begged explanation. 

***